


bloodstream

by orphan_account



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am. / Maiko Month drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. modern

She's dressed like a woman from film noir today— blood red lips, inky hair hanging down her back, a cigarette perched between two fingers. At a glance, she doesn't look the part of senator's daughter, not without her pricy school clothes or impeccable posture, not without Azula carefully tracking her every move. For now, she's just Mai— just his, and they are alone.

"Do you want to leave?" he suddenly inquires. The parking lot of In-N-Out Burger is the worst place imaginable when it comes to these kinds of life-changing questions, but it comes spilling from his mouth before he can contain it.

She raises a quizzical eyebrow, takes a deep, hacking draught to steady herself. "I know what you mean," she begins slowly, "but you should know that I can't go with you."

"Why not?" he demands, hating how petulant his voice sounds and trying to deepen it. "I have a job, I have a place for us to live. You hate it here."

"I'm seventeen," she reminds him, blowing out a puff of smoke into the hazy, cold twilight. "A minor girl and her adult boyfriend, running away from home— you really don't see how the police would have a field day with _that_? My parents don't give a damn, but even they'll probably notice I've left for good after a couple months."

"I didn't think this through, did I?" he asks, deflated. He feels like an idiot kid, running his mouth off about the glamor of being on your own when he knows the grim realities first hand. Of course it's not some weekend trip to Santa Barbara. Was he expecting that she'd immediately acquiesce and run to pack her bags, run to abandon everything in favor of shacking up with a disowned ex-heir who's working towards an English lit degree and lives in an apartment where having the heating on for a week straight counts as an accomplishment?

"You never think anything through," Mai chides, more gently than he'd expected. "It's a nice offer, but if I leave here, I want to do it for myself. Not because Prince Charming decided to save the princess from her happy ending."

Her entire life has been defined by others, Mother-Father-Azula molding her into whatever their hearts desired— doll, heiress, weapon, sycophant, puppet. She needs to break free of Plasticville and its sickening inhabitants on her own— he gets that. But the more selfish, primal part of him wants a filled side of the bed, her jasmine scent imprinted onto the sheets. "I miss you," he finally says, though the words can't nearly convey what he means.

"So do I," she admits in a quiet whisper, almost to herself. Then she flips her phone open, checks the lit display. "7:05. I might make it in time for Mom's gala if I run."

He kisses her, briefly, feels the warm ash on her tongue and the swell of her chest against his. "You're coming back, right?" It's a stupid game to play, but his life has been full of people vanishing into shadows when he least expects.

She smiles. "Maybe." After she's gone a few steps, however, she stops and rotates to face him. "I turn eighteen in five months, three weeks, and six days," she remarks. "I might consider it, then. Clean out your foyer before I visit, will you? There's no room for any of my targets."

Five months, three weeks, and six days. From her, that's the closest he'll ever get to a yes.


	2. injustice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mai sits down on her bed, draws her knees to her chest, and promises to herself that she won't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

The worst things always happen on the best days, she thinks.

It's clear and bright outside when she walks into the spacious Tanaka courtyard, yet even the gentle peeps coming from the turtleduck pond do not alleviate her sense of foreboding. Nobody is hanging about the palace except for the usual guards, who'd hardly spared her a second glance and whispered amongst themselves once her back was turned. The last time this atmosphere permeated the caldera, Fire Lord Azulon's funeral was in session.

"There you are," a familiar voice trills, and Mai turns around to find Azula, clad in leather armor that is too large for her slim frame— a child playing dress-up. She has a strange look on her face, like a cat who's just devoured a pitcher of cream. "Your highness," she automatically replies, performing a shallow bow and almost immediately straightening up again. "Where's Prince Zuko? We were supposed to have a portrait done today."

Azula laughs, but with something harsher and crueler than mirth. It is a disconcerting sound when spilled from the lips of an eleven-year-old girl. "Don't worry, Mai. Zuzu isn't going to be sitting for portraits any time soon."

"What happened?" Mai demands, bile rising in the back of her throat. Nothing, _nothing_ that makes Azula laugh that way can be good.

"I'm really not supposed to say," Azula airily declares. "Father wants it kept as quiet as possible— only his closest were invited, and those who needed a little _reminder_ about who's in charge around here. But since you _were_ his betrothed—"

"Tell me. Please."

"All right," she scoffs, "don't be so impatient. My uncle was stupid enough to let him into a war meeting, and when General Buijing suggested sacrificing some piddly division so that we'd lose less of the elites, he jumped up and started babbling about how _unjust_ and _cruel_ the plan is. So Father said that he'd have to fight an Agni Kai to defend his honor, because it wasn't his place to criticize anything. He agreed, but it wasn't the general who stepped out when the gong rang— it was Father, and Zuzu refused to fight him. So pathetic— he actually got on his knees and cried for mercy like a child. Finally Father said that he'd learn respect and that suffering would be his teacher, and he burned him in the face all around the left side. He's been banished from the Fire Nation for being such a coward, can you believe it? At least until he captures the long-lost avatar, which will obviously never happen."

"You're lying," Mai chokes out. Fire Lord Ozai is not a kind man, but he is Zuko's _father_. No father could do that to his child, no matter how much he loathed the child in question. Cognitive dissonance has taken over, and she half-expects for Azula to burst out laughing again at any moment.

"Are you actually sad?" Azula asks, incredulous. "You can just marry someone else— it's not like my brother was a prize. If anything, you should be congratulating me on my promotion."

There is a hurricane of emotion whirling through her at the moment, startling in its intensity, and her primary desire is to hit the princess until she sees stars. Only by tightly digging her nails into her palms does she manage to regain a semblance of self-control. "Shut up," she hisses.

"He screamed," Azula persists, twisting the knife in further. It's obvious that she's enjoying herself. "Like a pig that's been branded—"

Mai slaps her, so quickly that the younger girl has no time to react. Her head snaps back, and there's a crimson handprint in the same spot where Zuko was burned. "Shut. Up."

If Azula had slapped her back, or winced, or had the guards seize her for striking one of Sozin's blood, that would have at least been cathartic. But instead she just smirks, narrows her citrine eyes a bit. "Maybe you should go home," she suggests in her sweetest voice. "Tomorrow I'm sure you'll see what a stroke of good fortune this was."

Mai runs out the gates and does not look back, despite all of her mother's lessons on how a lady conducts herself in public, until she's reached the doorstep of her empty house (Father is toadying up to a man who maimed his own son, Mother is drinking a cup of chai tea and eating pastries with her 'friends'.) Fleeing up the stairs, she waves off the servants and slams the door to her room shut. It's exactly how she left it- red curtains pulled halfway open, a poetry scroll left unfurled beside her armoire. On the desk there is a small vial of orange ink- a last gift from Zuko. He'd known she likes to paint.

The ink makes a sizable splatter on the adjacent wall when she throws it, shattering the pretty glass container and making a sickly, bright mess for some hapless maid to tidy. Mai sits down on her bed, draws her knees to her chest, and promises to herself that she won't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her cry.


	3. lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has forgotten, in the long weeks they have been separated, exactly how beautiful she is.

He's never seen her as angry as she is now, pacing back and forth through his hot metal cell, fury evident with every disciplined clack. "You could've at least looked me in the eyes before you ripped out my heart."

"I wasn't trying to hurt you," he protests again, pleading for her to understand. "I had to do this— I couldn't live with myself, you know that!"

"So you love your honor more than me— you're right, I do know," she spits out bitterly. "I just didn't expect to come out of my eclipse bunker and find that you'd deserted from the country. Maybe a little warning would've been nice?"

"You would have wanted to go with me." That's the crux of the matter— she has no real loyalty to any side but his. Where he went, she'd follow. He isn't going to be responsible for anyone else accompanying him into exile and suffering; Uncle Iroh was enough.

"And what if?" she demands. "You think I care about whether the Fire Nation wins the war or not? I care about you."

"... You're right," he hoarsely admits. "I fucked up."

"Yeah. You kind of did." She walks over to face him and, to his shock, begins to straddle his waist. "I deserve more than a goodbye letter, Zuko."

"What are you doing?" he murmurs, though he already knows the answer; she pushes him down to the ground.

"Don't talk." She removes both of their tunics; hers over her head, his by slicing through the thin fabric with a stiletto knife, blade a centimeter from his skin. Her slim, pale torso glimmers in the low prison light— he reaches out to unbind her small breasts, but she slaps his hand away. "You don't get to touch me, either. Not yet." She pulls the cloth loose herself, and he sucks in a breath— he has forgotten, in the long weeks they have been separated, exactly how beautiful she is.

His gaze suddenly flickers towards the door; what if somebody, Agni forbid Sokka, walks in on the warden's niece screwing the traitor prince? It does unlock from the outside, after all. But Mai is unconcerned as she makes short work of his pants, pulls the last of her underclothes off. He is naked, exposed, more vulnerable than he has ever let himself be; he has never been so aroused in his life.

She takes his cock into her hands; he is already painfully hard, and her light, teasing touch does nothing to relieve the pressure in his groin. Mai continues until he has almost come undone, arching into the little release she gives, then pulls away. He whimpers in spite of himself.

"Now," she declares, spreading her legs further open. He skims down her taut belly to lave her clitoris, the way she taught him in the Caldera. She moans in the back of her throat as he stimulates the small nub; he crooks two fingers inside her for good measure. Her walls clench around him and she climaxes, hips quaking violently. This is the closest he'll ever get to seeing her lose control, he thinks.

Her convulsions stop, and she sheathes him almost immediately afterwards, which is unexpected but not unwelcome. Nails grip his shoulders, leaving livid marks on the delicate skin as she moves up and down; he doesn't last long until he comes inside her tight warmth, her name dying on his lips.

They remain like that for a while, occupying the same space. "I thought that the day of black sun was the last time I'd seen you alive," she finally acknowledges, shattering the silence.

"I'm sorry," he says, but his words are hollow, empty. There's nothing he can say that will bridge the chasm he's created.

"Damn you," she mutters, standing up and pulling her tunic back on, throwing his pants and ruined shirt at him. "Sorry won't fix this."

The door swings open, revealing a young-looking guard. "Ma'am, there's a riot outside! I'm here to protect you," he declares. If he notices their flushed skin and disheveled hair, he keeps mum about it.

"I don't need any protection."

"Believe me, she doesn't," he says, with a proud chuckle; he realizes exactly how that line sounds a good thirty seconds after it escapes from his mouth. Mai shoots him a withering look from behind her bangs.

"I'm under direct orders from your uncle to make sure nothing happens," the guard persists, and Zuko recognizes his opportunity— he blasts a fireball at the man, who immediately leaps on top of Mai to shield her, and makes his exit.

Mai throws him off and races towards the hallway, but he's faster, sliding the door shut before she can leave. He can see her eyes through its narrow slit— to his alarm, she looks dangerously close to tears.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, uselessly, and leaves her for the third time.


	4. sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hardly count as a good moral compass. But I am glad that you came back."

She is walking on the beach when he finds her, half-draped in moonlight. In truth, she doesn't want to return to the house yet, not with Azula practically having a mental breakdown and Ty Lee wailing about how nobody's ever respected her individuality— she can't handle the overflow of _feelings_ right now. Weren't they sent here to have fun?

"... Hey," Zuko says, still hesitant.

"Hey," she replies, equally as awkward. What is she supposed to even say after emotional revelation around the campfire time? "Want to walk with me?"

He nods and follows, large footprints transposing her smaller ones. The beach is silent at this time of night, the narrow shoreline dwarfed by a sheet of obsidian.

"I didn't know you were so unhappy here," she says, dragging a toe in the sand.

"I'm just kind of confused, okay? A lot has changed. I'm not sure if I've done the right thing, coming back here."

Mai isn't very good at expressing sympathy— she has none to give. Too many people wanting more than she has and she becomes flat, apathetic. But Zuko is her boyfriend, and for once she feels a nagging sense of guilt for not noticing his obvious discomfort.

"I didn't know _you_ were so unhappy," he interjects. "I mean, with your parents. You never told me."

"Like you need to hear my sob stories," she scoffs with a well-timed eye roll, uncannily echoing Azula. "My life isn't nearly as bad as... some people's. I could have anything as long as I kept mum and didn't embarrass my father in public. I don't even have to see them anymore. They've got Tom-Tom and their governorship in the bleakest place on earth, and I've got the run of their old house. It's all great."

"You don't miss them at all?" he asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"No," she tells him, more to convince herself, "I don't. It's not like we were close, anyway. I went to boarding school, then to Azula. Most daughters aren't so lucky."

"It must have been... hard, not being able to care about anything," he acknowledges, voice an inch away from apology.

"Caring about things is harder," she admits, and they are quiet for a while after that, wandering back and forth aimlessly. If she squints, she can still see the burnt wreckage of Chan's house, a moment of vindication against a backdrop of uncertainty.

"Listen, I'm not going to tell you that you did the right thing under Ba Sing Se." It's the truth— she isn't his mother, to wipe his snotty nose and try to wrap everything up in a tidy little bow. "I hardly count as a good moral compass. But I _am_ glad that you came back." He smiles out of one corner of his mouth; she kisses him, almost with tenderness, thin lips against her own. _I waited_ , she thinks, _I waited for you like a stupid lovelorn girl in a dragon tale, even though you were never supposed to return. I'm not letting you go that easily._


	5. hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By age nine, Zuko has already decided that he does not like girls.

 By age nine, Zuko has already decided that he does not like girls. They giggle far too much, worry about getting their kimonos muddy, and blush on an alarmingly regular basis whenever he walks by. Worst of all are his sister and her friends, who never miss an opportunity to humiliate him in their games.

So it's a complete and utter accident when he happens to spy on one. Really, it is.

After his firebending lessons are over for the day, he wanders into his favorite garden to relax under the sloping apple tree in the center, only to stop dead in his tracks. A slight female, whose dark hair buns are tied with garishly pink ribbons, is already there, but she isn't sitting down— she stands several paces away, removes a gleaming silver knife from the folds of her robe, and throws it at the trunk. It strikes precisely and quivers there— her mouth curves upwards, and she goes to remove it. That's when she notices him.

"Prince Zuko!" Mai exclaims. "I didn't see you there."

He shrugs, trying to hide his intrigue. "Where'd you get the knife from?" Noblewomen, he knows, do not often learn combat skills so young— firebenders are a rare exception.

"I stole it. Not from here!" she hurriedly clarifies, blushing a little. "I went down to the kitchens one day and grabbed it off a counter. I was bored."

"That's... pretty cool," he admits. He always thought that Ayakura Mai was as plain as wallpaper, part of Azula's shadow, but maybe she isn't quite as annoying as he thought. "Can I try?"

"Sure," Mai acquiesces, giving him a strange look— most of those who wield flame do not supplement their skill with metal. He takes the blade from her grasp, tries to replicate her toss, and ends up sending the knife sailing backwards, narrowly missing his ponytail and gracelessly embedding itself into the shrubbery.

She laughs, an odd sound coming from such a dour girl, as she observes his distinct pout. "Maybe you'd be better off with swords or something."

"My cousin Lu Ten did say he'll teach me how to fight with daos when he comes home from Ba Sing Se." Attempting to salvage what's left of his pride, he to dislodge the knife from a particularly stubborn branch. "I could find you a shuriken, or a sai," he offers once he returns, handing it back. "We have a ton in the armory."

"Thanks," she says, but her face suddenly clouds over. "You won't tell anyone, right? My governess would _kill_ me if she found out."

"Of course I won't!" he promises indignantly. Does she really think of him as a snitch? "It'll just be... our secret."

"Our secret," Mai repeats with a rare smile, one he returns.


	6. decadence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both of them, she thinks, missed the mark on the lives they wanted.

Omashu is where she is treated like a queen, colorless shadow-girl paraded at the front of the conquering party. Given every luxury the Earth Kingdom has to offer, allowed free rein of the labyrinthine city— it's a dream come true, a life without struggle or conflict. Her father relishes the chance to play petty tyrant over the savages, Ozai in miniature; her mother croons about getting the royal treatment wherever she goes, palanquins and armed retinues. The biggest decisions she makes all day have to do with what dessert to eat or which knife to throw at her new bedroom door.

Mai sits before a gold-plated mirror, brushing out her long black hair with peppermint oil, and thinks of Zuko.

She's not supposed to remember him— not since he was banished, especially not since his wanted poster came out. "You're a pretty girl," Mother had 'reassured', "why waste your time? Forget about the traitor prince— we'll go to the matchmaker and find you an admiral, instead." Commodities, men are to her, status symbols on Father's totem pole.

 _He's disfigured_ , she reminds herself, giving the brush a brutal tug. _Probably blind in the left eye. And what would he want with a spoiled, pampered noblewoman like you?_

A sharp burst of self-loathing courses through her; complaining about having too little stimulation, of all things. _Zuko_ probably isn't suffering from an excess of decadence in exile— it can't be much fun, roaming the vastness that is the Earth Kingdom like a common peasant, dodging a world's worth of soldiers. He must have grown as hard as a geode by now if he means to survive— if she ever sees him again, he will not be the gentle, determined boy that lingers in the back of her mind, a last remnant from their childhood.

Mai looks at her reflection in the glass— a sharp, expressionless face stares back, narrow-eyed and thin-lipped as she fixes her ox-horns and ties up her sentimental parts. Both of them, she thinks, missed the mark on the lives they wanted.


End file.
